Ingi and I sit on separate couches. He reads, I write, the 70s station playing in the background. He sighs, I tap my toes. It’s a waiting game we’re playing now. Tomorrow’s the day we’re booked to fly to the trapline, and we’re both itching to go, both wondering if we’ll be able to make it through the snow. I silently cross my fingers we won’t have to postpone our flight out.

The power flickers on and off – snow, bending the trees, touching the power lines.

I’ve been waiting for this particular adventure for ten months or a lifetime. Ingi has spent two months each autumn at Tulabi for almost as many years as I’ve been alive, but I know he’s never experienced it quite like this. It will be new for both of us. I say I’ll keep an open mind – I have no expectations. He says he wants to recapture some memories.

The last eight days have been some of the happiest I’ve ever had – a combination of contentedly waiting out the snow and visiting with people I liked instantaneously. Playfulness, laughter, snowball fights, long hugs – an opportunity to develop friendships I already value, relationships I have this gut feeling will last. So much to be grateful for, right here, now, and that’s just the beginning.

This could be the last chance I have to post here for two months – Fraser, Ingi’s son and my friend, teased through the phone that I was letting him down. Ingi added, shortly after, “I know what, you could disappoint my sister, Elke, too, by not posting for two months,” smiling, not meeting my eye.

A week has already changed my life. I can’t imagine what two months is going to do. Stay tuned – I can’t wait to share stories from the trapline.